Title: To Be Anywhere Else
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik, Charles/Shaw, implied Erik/Shaw
Rating: adult
Length: 2607 words
Content notes: Noncon/rape.
Author notes: Modern AU taking place in Las Vegas, in which Shaw is Erik's boss. Very dark! Please beware of content notes, above.
Summary: Charles wakes up drugged, with Erik's boss demanding tribute. He gets it, even though Charles doesn't want to give it to him.



Content notes: noncon/rape

*

His head aches. His mouth is dry, his tongue numb. When he tries to sit, he can't. His arms flop uselessly at his sides, the backs of his hands jerking against smooth, cool sheets.

«...where...?» His mind feels clouded, the words as lost as the ones he can't shape with his lips. «...Erik? Erik...» He can't feel Erik nearby. Where is he? He should be here, he's always been here. Ever since Erik pulled Charles out of the lineup at the Westchester Club, he's been unwilling to let Charles leave his side.

"Nice," comes a voice. Charles tries to open his eyes and immediately wishes he hadn't. The room is dim, but he can still make out the shapes, hazy in the thin light. He's in Erik's room here at Hellfire, and over by the floor-to-ceiling windows, Erik's illuminated by the flashing neon lights outside.

Erik's naked, which isn't so unusual for an evening in his room. But that voice... the voice wasn't his. Erik's standing at the window, naked, and someone else is in the room with them.

Charles tries to push himself up again and gets his head an inch off the bed. «Erik...»

But Erik's not the one who joins Charles on the bed. Charles's eyes track jerkily over to the side, once he feels the weight shift. Someone else is there, naked, too, crawling up onto the bed with him. Someone...

Charles knows him. He's seen him at the club, beautiful woman on his right arm, beautiful man on his left. This is the man Erik works for.

Charles's heart starts thudding in his chest. He can't call to Erik for help. Not from this.

"You could always pick them," the man goes on, while Charles tries to remember his name. Shaw. Sebastian Shaw. "Look at this mouth. Bet he sucks like a dream."

Charles has just enough control over his body to close his mouth and tighten his lips. It only makes Shaw laugh.

Shaw reaches up, holds Charles's face in one hand. "C'mere," he murmurs.

Erik comes away from the window, heading for the bed. Charles can already feel his eyes stinging. Not this. Not you. Please, don't-- He tries to gather his thoughts again, sends out «No» as loud as he can.

It makes Erik flinch, but when Shaw rolls away from Charles, it doesn't stop Erik from taking his place.

"What do you want me to do?" Erik murmurs, suspended above Charles now, not meeting his eyes. Shaw reaches over, slaps Erik's shoulder.

"Show me you learned something, all those years with me. Improvise."

Erik nods. Charles wants to scream, wants to get his hands up and shove at Erik's shoulders. It only gets worse when Erik bends down and kisses Charles's forehead, rests there for a moment as though his presence can be any sort of reassurance under these circumstances. "Remember, Charles. I love you," Erik breathes, maybe low enough that Shaw can't hear him, maybe not.

Either way, Shaw doesn't like that one small moment of gentleness. He reaches over and catches Erik by the hair, gripping him so hard it drags Erik's head back.

"This is what improvisation means?" Shaw asks mildly. "You were always tough to train. God, what a disappointment you've been." He sighs. "If you're sweet on your whore, okay, fine. But don't waste my time with this bullshit. Give him that stuff on your own."

Erik's expression hardens. Charles manages a faint whimper, but he can't make any other sound. Not this, please no, please, Erik...

"I swear to God, that mouth," Shaw goes on. "I could take a bite out of that. Why don't you go ahead and do that for me? Bite him."

Charles just manages to turn his head to the side. Erik catches his face, though, and crushes his mouth against Charles's, his teeth digging in.

It's awful. It's all the things Charles had to put up with, time after time, from the sort of men who wanted Charles's mouth bleeding before they'd fuck his throat. It wasn't supposed to be like that with Erik. It's never been like that with Erik.

But Erik's teeth cut into Charles's lip, and Charles can't even get a hand up to push him away. The pain doesn't stop until Charles tastes copper, and when that happens, Erik gasps, licking hard into Charles's mouth, tongue dragging against his lower lip. Charles manages a muffled cry, but Erik's chasing the iron in Charles's blood across his mouth, and suddenly he's just like everyone else.

Charles lets his eyes slip closed again. He could leave this behind, retreat into his thoughts. He could be anywhere but here, feeling his lover turn into the kind of brutal, ugly fuck that everyone else has always been.

You were supposed to be different, he thinks, as Erik pulls away from him.

"There we go," Shaw says. Shaw sounds a little breathless; Charles wishes he didn't have to hear it. "Let's get his clothes off, c'mon, he looks about ready for this..."

Nothing could make Charles ready for this. Erik's arm around his shoulders doesn't make things any better. But Erik levers him up off the bed, and for a moment Charles is almost grateful-- grateful that it's him, grateful that at least it's Erik holding him, and he knows that when this is all over, Erik will tell Charles he's sorry, and pet his hair, and tell him how much he loves him...

That moment doesn't last very long. Shaw's right there on Charles's other side, and Erik lets Shaw take Charles away from him, passing Charles forward until he's lying in Shaw's arms.

His head lolls back against Shaw's shoulder; Shaw reaches up and brushes the backs of his fingers down Charles's face. "I asked him if you'd be a good boy for this," Shaw murmurs. "He didn't think so. So I had him slip you the sedative at dinner. You probably didn't even notice, huh? You really trust this guy?" Shaw laughs. His hand slips down Charles's chest, rucking up the fabric at his waist. Charles can feel cool air against his stomach. Shaw's other arm comes around him, too, and-- no... no... Charles squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can, as Shaw's other hand slips under the elastic of his pajama bottoms, reaches between Charles's legs for his still-soft cock.

"Yeah," Shaw murmurs, breath hot against Charles's cheek. "You're probably not going to get hard while I fuck you; too much of the good drugs in your system for that. But hey, no worries. Next time I come around maybe we'll get to try it without the drugs. Maybe you'll be a good boy then, and I'll have Erik suck you off while I fuck your pretty little ass. How does that sound?"

Like a nightmare, Charles thinks, trying to turn his face away. Shaw chuckles again and squeezes his cock one more time, then starts pulling his shirt off, manhandling one arm at a time to get them through the sleeves. Both of Charles's arms fall loose at his sides again, once the shirt's off and over his head, and Shaw doesn't waste the opportunity; he runs his hands up and down Charles's chest, gentle and smooth at first, but quickly starting to scratch.

Charles tries to squirm away, but there's nowhere to go; he pitches forward, but Shaw catches him, one arm around his chest, hand buried in Charles's hair to tug his head back. "On second thought," Shaw tells him, "I kinda like this. You're like a pretty little rag doll, just made to get fucked. All I have to do is decide which hole to stuff first."

It's not as if Charles has the strength to bite, but the fantasy is rich and clear: Shaw pushing his cock into Charles's mouth, and Charles biting him. But then what-- oh, God, then what, Charles has seen the scars on Erik's back and thighs, leftover marks from welts Shaw's left when displeased. Charles has taken a lot of things from johns who weren't good to him the way Erik's been. He doesn't want Shaw to beat him.

"Up and over, that's a boy," Shaw says. He pushes Charles onto his stomach, where Charles ends up tangled in his own limbs. But he doesn't stay that way for long; Shaw shoves his arms up above his head, drags his legs out from underneath him. He pulls Charles across the bed, until he's bent over at the side of it, his toes just barely touching the floor.

Shaw's fingernails scrape his sides a little as he gets his hands into Charles's waistband, pulls his pajama bottoms down over his hips. He stops there, the fabric caught up around his thighs; in a way it's that much more horrible, being halfway dressed for this. Erik's had him this way, clothes just barely dragged out of the way before Erik was in him, fucking him... for just a moment, Charles is grateful he's had these months with Erik. Whatever Shaw gives him, it can't be as much as what Erik has between his legs.

He cringes, turning his face into the mattress, smothering the first of his sobs. It should never have come to this, being grateful Erik's been there to train him for whatever brutality Shaw wants to force on him. And as he thinks that, he wonders...

How long has Erik know this would happen? How long has Erik known this was coming?

He doesn't want to think about it. He can't think about it. He holds his breath as Shaw's thumbs slide into his cleft, thinking about that first night with Erik. The Westchester Club, so far away from here. Atlantic City instead of Las Vegas; filmy curtains over the windows instead of neon lights illuminating the room. It hurt-- God, he'll never forget how it hurt, his body wracked with it while he struggled back to get more-- but he wanted it, every inch, every moment. He begged so easily, then.

"If you've been taking Erik every night, I know you can handle me," Shaw says. "But let's be nice anyway. Give you something. Get you slick. Erik?"

Charles feels Erik's weight come off the mattress, hears the whisper of it as Erik pads around the bed. But he's not prepared for it when Shaw steps aside, and Erik's big hands settle on Charles's hips. He's even less prepared when he feels the angle shift a little, and when Erik holds him open, Charles groans despite himself, almost certain now what's going to happen, almost...

The first wet stroke of Erik's tongue is almost enough to get Charles's chest off the bed. He feels the impulse of it, the strain of his muscles against the lethargic weight of the sedative. He settles down again immediately, face turned to the side now so he can gasp for breath. How many times has he done this for Erik? How many times has he fantasized about Erik doing it for him? He's been coy about it, I know a way you could get me ready for you without the lube, but he's never asked. And now he's getting it-- and Erik's good at it, tongue strong and broad, pressing hard against Charles's hole, pushing into him, opening him up. He doesn't just focus on Charles's opening, though; he moves up, moves down, traces his tongue over the sensitive spot behind Charles's balls. If anything could get Charles hard, this would; it's filthy and depraved and just for him, something Erik does just for him...

The fog lifts from his mind as Erik's pulled away from him. "Pretty hot, huh?" Shaw offers, and then there's a cool, dense sensation against Charles's ass, the blunt head of Shaw's cock, oh God, this is really happening. Charles feels tears sliding down his face, and he doesn't have the energy to stop them.

"If I told you the number of stupid little whores he's eaten out for me," Shaw says, shoving in, oh God, an inch or two at most and there's going to be so much more than this, breathe, breathe, "just so I could fuck them until they bleed," again, hands too weak to scramble for purchase on the covers, all he can do is gasp and cry. "And it drives him crazy watching one of his whores bleed for me, it's his favorite," one more rough shove and Charles has him all, Shaw's hips against his ass, thank God, thank God there isn't more to him than that.

But he was early in his gratitude; Shaw starts moving, and once Charles is able to take him in smooth, long strokes, something changes. The pounding thrusts hurt that much more; every impact feels laced with a crackling, electrified energy, something that raises the hair on the back of Charles's neck and makes him tingle in the back of his throat.

«Please...» Charles can't help reaching out with his thoughts, tries as hard as he can to get them all the way to Erik. «Please, please, I can't, make him stop, make it stop, it hurts, Erik it hurts so much--»

Shaw's making sounds now, guttural pleased sounds that he's growling out from his chest, his hands clenching Charles's hips, his cock driving in so hard that Charles's thighs are going to end up bruised from the mattress. Charles tries to take deep breaths, imagines himself somewhere else, anywhere else, not here, not here not this not here, please...

A few last punishing thrusts and Shaw cries out, and it's over, it's over, thank God, Charles can breathe again. He has to take in air between sobs, but it's all right; all the pain is starting to fade, and when Shaw withdraws and steps away, Charles slumps that much more against the mattress, chest barely moving for all that it feels as though it's heaving with his breath.

"Like I said," Shaw pants, "you always did know how to pick them." His hand comes down hard on Charles's ass, and Charles jerks, crying out weakly all over again. "I'll see you two in a month."

Charles tries to get his breathing under control. He needs to hear Shaw getting dressed; he needs to hear Shaw leaving. When the door closes and Shaw's finally gone, he loses himself to the tears, burying his face in the mattress again.

"I'm sorry," Erik whispers. He touches Charles's back; Charles tenses all over. "I'm so sorry, Charles, let me-- just let me get you onto the bed, please--"

He tries to be kind about it, tries to be gentle. Charles appreciates the care, even though every motion is agony. Erik helps settle Charles fully on the bed, where Charles can sob into his pillow, shaking with leftover fear.

"I love you," Erik says, hand sliding down Charles's back. "I..."

It comes back to Charles all at once, in a rush. It drives him crazy watching one of his whores bleed for me. It's his favorite.

"Erik," Charles manages to whisper. "No."

Erik gets his hands under Charles's shoulder, under his hip, and rolls him onto his back. Charles's cry of pain is barely more than a gurgle in his throat. When Erik pushes Charles's knees to his chest, Charles closes his eyes again, doesn't even try to hold back the sobs.

"I'm so sorry," Erik says, but it means less than nothing when the next thing Charles feels is Erik's cock, tearing into him where Shaw just was, moving inside him while the sick scent of copper fills the air.